


imbalances

by qwanderer



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference Angst, M/M, Near Future, Underage Kissing, extended Batman metaphors, groggy Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 05:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4509423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwanderer/pseuds/qwanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So... now I'm Batman?" </p><p>Stiles gets the feeling Derek's only humoring him because he kind of has no other choice, recovering as he is from the rogue Alpha's claws. But there's a whole mess here to untangle, so Stiles is going to jump on that.</p><p>"You kind of are. Well my point was that you're kind of not, too, but you do show up like a shadow on the edge of buildings when my dad sends up the bat signal, or the wolf signal or whatever, so... but that's my point. Okay, you answer to people. You aren't the lone vigilante kind of Batman you apparently think you are, you don't have Robins. You have Commissioners. Hang on, okay, I swear this makes sense in my head. I'm just saying I've never been Robin. I've kind of been Oracle? Although since we've got actual red-haired oracle-like-being Lydia, we should probably give her the Barbara Gordon slot."</p>
            </blockquote>





	imbalances

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first time writing Stiles, coming off a long stint in the Avengers fic business, so you must forgive me if his voice errs slightly in the Tony Stark direction.
> 
> I've seen up through s5e7, and as far as I know this is canon compliant, but there's only a few s5 elements mentioned herein.

There's a deeper darkness in Stiles now, after the Nemeton ice bath, the things it had let into his brain, and after the... incident with the scaffolding. Stiles likes to think that he's hiding it pretty well, acting pretty much like his old upbeat self, but sometimes he'll catch Scott looking at him and he knows he hasn't got it quite right. 

But at the same time, he's okay, and he's more sure than ever that he can get through anything the supernatural tries to throw at him. 

It's Scott who decides they need all the help they can get with the rogue Alpha they suspect is on the edge of their territory while they're also dealing with... everything else, monsters, murders, Kira's abilities still being on the fritz, the group of hunters threatening to move into Beacon Hills because Chris Argent doesn't seem to be enough all on his own. So it's Scott that calls Derek, hoping to make use of his experience with unbalanced Alpha wolves. 

The fight doesn't go quite as planned. It turns out the Alpha was there looking for Derek, and hunting turns into being hunted, but backup gets there in time, just barely but in time, and soon Derek is safe in the back room at Deaton's, cleaned and bandaged, drugged up on painkillers and Scott's pain-sucking werewolf mojo. 

Scott's with Kira now, Deaton's needed in talks with the hunters, so Stiles is on 'stay with Derek and make sure he's okay' duty. Derek seems pretty out of it, which would be hilarious if his whole torso wasn't gouged up by Alpha claws. 

"You don't have to stay," Derek says, watching Stiles settle into a nearby chair with his phone. 

"Yeah, I know," Stiles says without looking up. "But someone probably should. And it's not like I've got anything more important to do. It's Spring Break, Dad's working, Scott's spending quality Kira time figuring out how to help her control, and it's not like I have a smoking hot werecoyote waiting for me in my bed lately, so smoking hot werewolf in a hospital bed is pretty much the best I can ask for right now." 

Derek frowns. "What happened to Malia?" 

Stiles shrugs. "She's fine. Just, uh... pretty standard breakup, I guess? Never really seen one firsthand before. Anyway. Sure you don't need anything? Water? More blankets? A lullabye?" 

The sort of adorably befuddled frown hasn't left Derek's face. 

"Okay," says Stiles, "how about we start with an extra blanket and go from there?" 

He gets up to get one, then smooths out the blanket gently over the bandaged chest, watching Derek's face warily. "You seem pretty out of it," he comments. "I'm glad I stayed. But, okay, really, let me know if you want anything, right?" 

Derek hooks an arm around Stiles's shoulder, pulls him down and kisses him. 

Stiles has always been attracted to Derek, and they both know it. At first it was in a 'why are the biggest assholes always hot' sort of way, and then once he got to know Derek better, well. The whole can of worms didn't seem like much more of a good idea than what was printed on the tin. And then, Hurricane Malia happened. 

Kisses just seem to happen to Stiles now, now that he's usually got something more important to be paying attention to. But right now everyone's safe, Derek is the only thing that needs his attention. 

It's soft and loose, and Stiles wonders how much of that is Derek being loopy, and how much is just Derek being Derek. If he'd had to guess a year ago, he'd have said it was all the drugs. Now? He really couldn't say. 

He kisses back, slightly firmer but still gentle, then pulls away, an irrepressibly amused smile on his face. "All right, goodnight kiss. Interesting option. But I can go with it." 

There's a very familiar expression on Derek's face, but Stiles is used to being the one making it. It's a distinct, frozen and wary expression of 'Did I just say that aloud/do that in real life?' 

"Hey, it's okay," Stiles says. "I know you're loopy. I won't hold this against you later. Unless you want me to." 

"I didn't mean to do that," Derek mumbles, looking concerned. 

"Go to sleep," Stiles tells him. "Hopefully both our brains will be running a little hotter in the morning." 

Derek nods tiredly, lays his head down, and very soon, he's asleep. 

Stiles just watches for a while. He has a long time to think about whether that was a sign of something more, how it might turn out, and whether he wants it. 

* * *

Derek's pained grunt as he tries to get up off the cot startles Stiles into wakefulness, and his flailing sends his phone skittering across the floor and the crick in his neck into painful contortions. "Holy - what," he says to the air, looking around, before seeing Derek in the dawn light from the windows and remembering where he is and why. "Hey. Need help with that?" he asks. 

"No, it's fine," says Derek, but Stiles stretches and then comes to help him up and to the bathroom anyway, and Derek lets him, even leans on him. 

They get him back on the cot, and it's morning, Stiles's brain is registering the tasks he should probably get on top of, and wondering if there's coffee anywhere in this building, or maybe soda, or at least something capable of giving him a sugar high to start out with. He rubs his face, trying to remember where his backpack is and whether there's candy in it, when Derek says, "I'm sorry about... last night." 

"What?" says Stiles. Oh - yeah. The last item on his 'stuff that happened yesterday' inventory. And probably the best, aside from 'everybody's not dead!' He grins. "Hey, no problem. My pleasure. Really." 

"No." Derek sighs. "It was... wrong. It shouldn't have happened." 

"Hey, I can forget it ever happened, if that's what's bothering you. Won't tell anyone about your moment of weakness for all that is Stiles Stilinski. But if you're worried I didn't want it, well, don't worry. Because it was actually pretty awesome." 

"You don't know what you're saying." 

"Okay, I'm actually... really insulted right now?" Stiles replies. "My kissing experience is healthy and fairly wide-ranging. I know I don't mind getting kissed by people in freaky supernatural circumstances, assuming they're someone I actually, y'know, know and tolerate. Superstrong werecreatures are obviously a turn-on. So, all things considered, I'd say, yeah, I have a pretty good idea what I'm talking about here." 

"You're seventeen," says Derek. "There's a line I shouldn't be crossing. And I did. And you shouldn't be offering to cover it up." 

There's darkness in his eyes, and Stiles can recognize it so much more easily now for what it is, an enormous knot of guilt and pain and loss. And of course. This is about Kate. 

Stiles is going to tread as lightly here as he's capable of, which will probably be 'not very.' 

He's developing a picture in his head, a picture of what Derek's afraid this could be, and another picture, something it actually might be. 

"I'm not who you were," he tells Derek. 

"You're still too young." 

"Am I?" Stiles practically raises his eyebrows into the clouds as he looks at Derek with a little head-shake for emphasis. "Is that what really matters? Time? Years? Or is it who we are, what roles we play?" 

"What are you talking about, Stiles?" And now those eyebrows are being all eyebrowwy at him again. 

"I'm saying I might not be the oldest or the strongest, ever, but that doesn't mean I play the Robin to anyone else's Batman. That costume's never quite fit." 

"So... now I'm Batman?" 

Stiles gets the feeling Derek's only humoring him because he kind of has no other choice, recovering as he is from the rogue Alpha's claws. But there's a whole mess here to untangle, so Stiles is going to jump on that. 

"You kind of are. Well my point was that you're kind of not, too, but you do show up like a shadow on the edge of buildings when my dad sends up the bat signal, or the wolf signal or whatever, so... but that's my point. Okay, you answer to people. You aren't the lone vigilante kind of Batman you apparently think you are, you don't have Robins. You have Commissioners. Hang on, okay, I swear this makes sense in my head. I'm just saying I've never been Robin. I've kind of been Oracle? Although since we've got actual red-haired oracle-like-being Lydia, we should probably give her the Barbara Gordon slot." 

Stiles sighs and runs his fingers through his hair because he can tell that what's coming out of his mouth is still too unformed to sound like anything but garbage, and Derek's blank stare is just confirming that. While he's trying to regroup, Derek slips words into the silence. 

"It's not like I haven't tried recruiting help. That... did not go well. For anyone." 

"Yeah, because all your betas were people who wouldn't sit still and listen to you! They were strong people. You thought of yourself as a predator and they didn't want to be prey. They all wanted to have their own adventures, and that's what took them all down. Not you. Not what you did to them. Themselves." 

"I brought them into this world." Derek's eyes are glowing blue pinpricks under heavy brows, and yeah, maybe talking about Boyd and Erica is not going to be the most encouraging subject right now. 

"No, but see, what I'm saying is, you're taking all this responsibility for people, and it's not you. You're not Bruce Wayne, the guy standing at the top of Gotham looking down on everyone else. You may have been an Alpha but it isn't who you are. You're like some kind of perpetual student, or, you know, protege. Hey, maybe you're Terry McGinnis. That way we can both be Batman, huh?" 

Derek raises his eyebrows at Stiles, then looks pointedly down at his own black-clad bulk, then back up at Stiles. 

Stiles just shrugs in acknowledgement. "Yeah, you're right. Doesn't really take into account which one of us is a student and which is a bitter orphan with a sizeable inheritance, a monochrome wardrobe and a bitchin' black car. So not a perfect comparison! But what I'm _saying_ is." Stiles takes a deep breath, feels for the heart of this mess of thoughts he's been trying to untangle. "You... have a tendency... to get attached to people who want to _mold_ you. Manipulate you. Not always in a bad way!" Stiles holds up his hands in denial, as if he can inhibit the thoughts he knows are circling in Derek's head, the guilty ones. "I mean like the supernatural consultant thing you've got going with my dad! That's good, right?" 

Derek's looking... mostly lost right now, honestly, so Stiles forges bravely onward, hoping it will all start to make sense soon. 

"He kinda rocks. As a dad. Doesn't push too much. And I think he kinda wants to be a dad to you too. Make sure you have whatever you need to be the person you wanna be. So I think... you did okay there. He's a good choice." 

Derek laughs darkly. "Might be the only one." 

Stiles makes a face, pained and not quite mocking (he hopes). "Yeah, there's, uh... a history there. There's a pattern. Kate, Peter... Miss Blake was an actual _teacher,_ for fuck's sake. Face it, buddy, you have a type, and it is not people who will just sit back and take what you can hand out. Kinda the opposite, actually." 

"So what are you saying? That if I like you, you'll turn out to be like them?" His expression is skeptical. 

"Hoping I'll be more like my dad. But I'm saying, your liking me means I won't be your prey." Stiles takes a deep breath and looks at Derek steadily. "So all you have to decide is if you trust me not to be a predator." 

They hold each other's eyes for a long moment after that, Stiles wondering if Derek can see the darkness lurking in his own head, that heaviness that makes Stiles wonder if Derek would be right to trust that about him. 

He must see, because Derek's eyes go earnest and concerned, and the next thing he says is, "You're a good teacher." 

Stiles waits for more, not so much patient as finally empty of things to say. 

"You're good with your pack, at helping people understand. You're good with Malia. I thought you were good together." 

Stiles sits and then leans his head back against the wall, thinking. "We were," he says. "We were good. Our thing was a good thing. But it's not a thing anymore." 

"Why not?" Derek asks. 

And Stiles doesn't talk about this a lot, because it does hurt, but if anyone needs to know, it's Derek, right now. 

"She doesn't need me anymore," Stiles says, trying to sound matter-of-fact. "She, uh, she - wanted to try other things. And it's not like I think that was a bad thing, okay? She needed me for a while, she needed someone to teach her about dating and kindness and being human but she was always looking over her shoulder with me. Always worried about disappointing me. Like I had all the answers, like there was a test she could fail! And that was probably, yeah, my fault. But what she needs now is to be eye-to-eye with somebody and that was never gonna be me. She needed me and now she needs - something else. To figure out who she is and what her options are. She doesn't need me anymore, not like that." He rolls his head around where it's still tilted against the wall, looking at Derek sideways. "And I kind of think you do." 

"So am I a project to you?" 

" _No,_ damnit," Stiles says, sighing. "Derek, you're a person, you're a friend, and I kind of wish sometimes that someone would need me for something that would last longer than just a project or a puzzle or until the latest monster is dead. And I'm always happy to help, I really am, but if we start something, I really hope it keeps being something you need." 

Derek purses his lips together slightly, looking at Stiles, concern and annoyance both radiating out from him. 

"Your pack needs you," he says eventually. "Don't underestimate that. She's pack, and she'll always need you. We all will. For more than plans and puzzles." 

Stiles's mouth gapes a little. "We?" he asks. "Are you planning on being Scott's beta?" 

"If he'll have me? I don't..." Derek frowns at the failure of his words. "You're right. I'm not meant to be an Alpha. And I don't want to be an Omega. Scott... anyone would be lucky to be in a pack with a true Alpha." 

"No, Scott, he's...." Stiles waves off the whole 'true Alpha' bull. "Scott's just Scott. He does the best he can for his pack. So did you, when you were an Alpha. Just, things in Beacon Hills... they can kinda suck." 

"They can," Derek says. "Your pack's making them better." 

"Oh, it's _my_ pack now?" Stiles responds. 

Derek sighs impatiently. "It's always been your pack, Stiles. Scott always listens to you. He doesn't lead the pack alone. To tell the truth... it's not him I'd be joining for. It's you." Derek shakes his head. "That's not how werewolves are supposed to work, but...." 

"...But it's the way _we_ work." Stiles scoots closer to him, watching him intently. "Derek. Neither of us has ever been really about following the rules, playing it safe. So if you're trying to tell me I might wanna start, it's not going to work for you." 

Derek grunts thoughtfully. He looks sideways at Stiles again. "You really want this?" 

Stiles laughs, slightly nervous. "For given values of 'this,' I don't know," he answers, "but I know I'd like to give it a chance. And I _definitely_ know I want another kiss. A real, fully conscious one this time." 

The tension in Derek's neck, face and hands all loosens slightly, and Stiles's smile softens a little in response. Derek breathes, looking off into nothing for a while. 

"Okay," he says. "Okay."


End file.
